ᴀɴɢᴇʟ﹐ sᴡᴇᴇᴛ

it's all the same for the dreamers

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        ❋⊱ “Allow me to offer you some tea.”

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[afiremoon]

The Silenced (2015)

directed by Lee Hae-young

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downthechicagoriver​​ hyacinthsgirl corvussin

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enchairr

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@corpusdxlicti (from here)

       ❋⊱ The marquess generally speaking spent most, if not all, of his time surrounded by either other members of the upper class or servants. Not necessarily because he wished for it to be so, but rather because that was simply how things had always been, even with the somewhat peculiar lifestyle he had come to adopt. In many ways, one could consider it foolish that he had come here by himself -- his reputation and safety arguably at stake -- but consumed as he was by his studies, he would more often than not travel great distances to survey whatever it was that had seized his interest. This was new, however, and he allowed himself a moment to study the man in silence. (He seemed like just that; a man. Besides the obvious hostility, which Flammen presumed was not uncommon around these parts, he looked entirely ordinary.)

         “Pardon me for intruding.” From an outsider’s perspective, the two men could not have seemed more different. Where the one was rough the other was soft, where the one was agitated the other was calm, and where the one sounded hostile the other sounded positively and utterly indifferent -- regardless of his interest. “You are Vincent, I presume?”

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“Do forgive me if my head’s a little vague.”

         ❋⊱ “That’s quite alright. My own is not always so well-defined, either.”

[corvussiin-archived]

                                          Oh if only he could pay his money to have Flammen to smile if only a bit more — even if they were only for him. Nonetheless, he didn’t mind the stoic remained on his features. His almost monotonous expression was what drew the dressmaker in; that was the unique beauty of said marquess, one that Julius finds very much endearment in. And he felt lucky that he was one of the few people that Flammen had opened up to; albeit by just a little. He was used to such monotonous, he could easily read what exactly was written underneath the straightness of his expression.               Julius propped himself up a sitting position and leaned his back against the headboard, making more room for the latter to sit on his bed. Though he was the guest; he’d made it clear that he’d gotten so use to the Blackmore’s hospitality that even Lord Blackmore’s bed was casually used as theirs. Still refuse to have himself fully dress; shirt unbottoned; hair dishevelled and pants — elsewhere. “So far you are sitting from me, my Lord. I would not take you as a shy person — thinking of the things we’d done the night before.” Saying such words outloud, he couldn’t help but to pause himself and chuckled. “I’m going to be whispering this story as it is a secret. Why not come closer” He beckoned, patting the empty space next to him. And not to mention, how the maid could enter at any moments later — and here the dressmaker offered a more closeness between them. 

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          ❋⊱ Some claimed that the marquess hadn't smiled ever since the chain of tragedies that had gained him that title. Rumours of such kind were rarely ever true, but this case was an exception. Flammen might sometimes frown, or his expression might turn gentle, but he would never smile. Not for anything or anyone, as if he had simply forgotten how to express a feeling of joy. Only his eyes ever smiled, but more often than not even they remained silent and empty, not giving way to what was beneath unless willed so. Truly, he was much like the books he coveted -- he could be read, but only by those who were familiar with the language inside. It was strangely pleasant to be understood so easily, even if to a shallow extent.               As per usual, Flammen ignored the dressmaker’s obvious attempt at provocation. Sometimes he did wonder of Julius never tired of it, but then he would remind himself that he had quite a few habits that could be considered odd himself. The idea that Julius might attach a much greater importance to, in Flammen’s opinion, insignificant matters, never even entered his mind. Yet rather than moving closer, he eyed the man with something akin to uncharacteristic scepticism. Unbeknown to Julius, no maid or servant of any sort would be entering the bedroom. The marquess typically did not have his breakfast until relatively late and all residents of the house knew better than to disturb him in the bedroom.               “I am quite comfortable like this,” he said, which was true, for he had just settled there, but he also knew how quickly his friend allowed himself to get distracted when they were in close proximity of each other. Normally speaking that would not have been a particularly great concern, but Flammen was quite eager to hear this tale. The need to whisper while they were the only ones present in the room eluded him as well, yet he did not question it. “If you really must whisper this story, you may come closer to me instead.”

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downthechicagoriver​​ corvussin

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???

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hyacinthsgirl‌:

     MOIRA AND Odelia had actually been good acquaintances once, but of course the previous Marchioness’s death had cut any little contact between the two families. Meeting his son was an odd yet lucky coincidence. A man of learning like him could not be but a good company for Rowan, who had indeed take a liking to the young man. Inviting him to visit his library in exchange for his previous invitation was a clear sign of that. 

     Chris had not been told much about their guest. All she knew was that someone would come visit them that day, and to her parents she did not need to know much else. Her curiosity, though, pushed her out of her bedroom, down the stairs and towards the library. For a while she stood on the threshold, ‘spying’ the man standing in front of the bookshelves. A good minute later she stepped inside the room, showing herself. Her bare feet barely made a sound. She smiled gently at him. “Have you found anything of your liking?”

   ❋⊱ There was something comforting about letting his fingertips glide along the many book spines, just as there was something comforting of the smell of parchment and drinking tea and watching pheasants unhurriedly roam his gardens. They were all things that, Flammen supposed, made his utterly plain existence somewhat bearable.

           A voice that belonged to neither Rowan nor Moira shook him from his thoughts. He knew they had a daughter, but they rarely ever mentioned her at all, which was curious enough by itself, for in Flammen’s experience people with children rarely seemed to be able to talk of anything else. For that reason alone, besides common courtesy, she had earned his complete attention for at least a moment. She seemed quite ordinary and well-behaved, even with the complete lack of introduction.             “Oh, plenty, truly,” Flammen replied, slowly retracting his hand from the books. And sure enough, in passing he had seen many books that he knew he had enjoyed once and would undoubtedly again -- but that was not what he had come here for this day. Perhaps the child would know where to find that which he desired? “I am currently in search of books or scripts describing the occult specifically, however.”

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[aristocats--deactivated20110716]

[peacemxnusone]

Do you know the story of the Phasianidae? It’s a bird that experiences all of time in one instant. And she sings the song of love and anger and fear and joy and sadness all at once. And this bird when she meets the love of her life is both happy and sad. Happy because she sees that for him it is the beginning, and sad because she knows it is already over.

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@hyacinthsgirl

    ❋⊱ Marquess Blackmore would not call himself a friend of the Muir family. The only reason he knew them at all was his library --- he had met Rowan Muir upon purchasing a particularly odd parchment. (Loreley, upon hearing of this, had claimed that Odelia Blackmore and Moira Muir had known each other once, which was a tad difficult to believe considering the apparent gap in age.)       Flammen had offered the Muir family access to his impressive (as well as peculiar) library, while being courteous enough not to ask exactly what they were looking for and why they were so fervently searching in spite of his ever burning curiosity, for which they allowed him into their home. They seemed rather reserved as well as serious people. Flammen could only guess at what they were thinking, but then, it was probably the same the other way around. He didn’t really mind. Their books were much more readily available, and he took his time looking around the shelves to see if there were any that he did not have in his possession.

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@downthechicagoriver​​

     ❋⊱ Flammen did, generally, not waste a lot of thought on children. If he were to ever marry, no doubt it would be at the insistence of his cousin, who enjoyed concerning herself with such affairs. Not even the matter of an heir interested Flammen enough to distract him from his books. Indeed, he would not have given it a second thought if it hadn’t been for Loreley. It was mysterious Loreley, carrying secrets and rumours like an extravagant cloak, who had told him about the Whitcare family.

        By the time he agreed to accept the boy into his home, his cousin had already sent a letter with a marvellous imitation of his signature at the bottom. She had just as well taken the liberty of sending his butler to pick up the boy and whatever belongings he still had, leaving Flammen with no other option to wait. So wait he did, seated in the drawing room, idly looking through a botany book without really reading it. The majority of his servants was rather excited at the prospect of a new resident, especially one so young, come to occupy one of the rooms that had been empty for so very long -- after having lived without family for so many years, Flammen himself was not quite so certain.

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hiiddeneyes:

      even if he was currently busy, he recognized the noble as soon as his voice addressed him, and he stopped in the middle of the hallway, bowing but paying attention not to let the objects in his arms fall on the floor. “Ah, unfortunately I am, Sir. But if it’s an important matter, consider me at your service.” It would not be good to be rude to one of the Duke’s guests, after all.

       ❋⊱ A quiet, small sigh could be heard. If he were to make a request, the boy would have a hard time refusing, but not everyone regarded friendly interaction between a noble and a servant quite as ordinary and unworthy of note as the marquess did. (Never mind that openly expressing a wish to speak with a servant rather than the host would be unspeakably rude.) If there were consequences, they would not befall on him. “No, hardly,” he replied with a slight wave of his hand. “It was presumptuous of me to assume... --- My apologies for interfering with your duties.”

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hiiddeneyes corvussin

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downthechicagoriver​​